


We Grabbed the Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, CODA character, Car Accident, Descriptions of Injury, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Permanent Injury, Polyamory, Sign Language, Trans Character, accident recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kent doesn't remember much, except the sweet lilt of a Georgia accent as he's coming out of his drug-induced coma. He isn't sure what it means, but he definitely doesn't expect it to end like this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm definitely on the PB&J train. These boys are so sweet and just need to be loved and protected. 
> 
> Be warned: this fic contains descriptions of a motorcycle accident, injuries, and recovery as well as depression, mentions of Jack's OD, and anxiety.

Jack sits by the bed and does his best to ignore the weird noises coming from the machines. He’s feeling a lot of sensory over-load just from his emotions alone, and the subtle beeping from something telling him the person in the bed is still alive is almost like a gunshot going off repeatedly.

But he weathers it because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

He wonders a moment of this is irony. He never really understood the word—how it worked. He’s not quite sure if it’s because English isn’t his first language, or if it’s just a personal thing. But Kent Parson had crushed the Bruins. He’d like to say it was all the Aces but Kent was on fire and broke three records before scoring the final goal and securing the cup.

He hadn’t even been drunk.

The motorcycle wasn’t even his.

And the guy who hit him had been an Aces fan. He’d been drunk on the win—and about nine beers—and had pulled out of the car park as he was looking down at his GPS. He hadn’t even seen Kent. Kent hadn’t even been speeding. He hit the gas, thinking it was the brake when he realised he was on a collision course.

At least, that’s what the cops at the hospital told Jack. That’s what the guy had told them.

And it had been officially twenty-seven hours—six of which had been surgeries on his spine, then to attach Kenny to these machines which were holding the bones of his legs together because they’d been in pieces.

If Jack thinks about that too much bile rises in his throat and he doesn’t want to fall apart before Kenny opens his eyes again.

“He’s lucky,” the doctor had said to him. “If he’d been wearing a helmet, he’d probably have broken his neck.”

Jack’s jaw tenses at that, and he wants to punch something because he’s not entirely sure how all of _this_ could be construed as lucky. Sure he gets it. Kenny’s lucky to be able to breathe on his own. The damage to his brain was minimal—he’s had worse on the ice. But whether or not Kent’s going to be able to play Hockey again is still up in the air and it definitely won’t be next season. Right now Kent’s got shattered legs, a broken him, what the doctors called a mild L-3 spinal cord injury which they’d already done as much for him as they can. They don’t know his prognosis.

“It’s going to take some time,” the doctor says and Jack wants to punch something again. And he might, because he’s already in a hospital so if he breaks something he won’t have to go far.

His phone pings and he looks down at the screen. **I’ve got Lardo’s car. I’ll be there in an hour.**

His hands close tight over the phone, the sides digging into his palms and it keeps him grounded because he’s pretty sure he won’t shake apart if Bitty’s there to hold him. He doesn’t text back though, doesn’t trust himself to say anything helpful.

Bitty knows, anyway.

Jack stares at Kent’s limp hand, then at his face which has no place looking that bashed up. His eyes are a little swollen and that’s probably from the drugs. Jack wouldn’t know. He lets himself wonder if this was how Kenny felt when he was sat by Jack’s bedside for days wondering if Jack was ever going to open his eyes again.

This wasn’t the same, of course. Kent was in what the doctors said was a medically-induced coma. “It would be too traumatic for him to deal with the pain,” the doctor had said. “It would severely impact his recovery. We’ll wake him up out of it slowly.”

Jack’s fingers twitch and then he gives up and reaches over to take Kent’s fingers. They’re too cold, and too limp, and rough because there’s road-rash from where he slid across the pavement. But his other arm is in a cast, and the fingers are bandaged because they hit the exhaust pipe and were burned.

Jack tries not to think of that right now. He moved his chair closer and drops his head down onto the railing and begins to whisper in French because it’s easier to just not think right now and for all the time he’s spent in the States it’s still easier this way.

He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the battered body and he mostly just apologises. He mostly tells Kent he should have at least tried to listen. That it wasn’t entirely his fault, and he got it, he knew why Kent was so angry. He was angry, too. And he had been jealous and he didn’t have to cut Kent out, but he had.

This shouldn’t be the way they were making up.

Not that they were.

“…but whatever this is,” he finishes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

*** 

That’s how Bitty finds Jack when he arrives. The accident was televised, but Jack had called Bitty before the media picked up on it.

“How’d you find out?” Bitty asks as he’s watching the story develop on the news. Half the Haus is awake and screaming now at the newscaster and screaming at Bitty because it’s obvious he’s got a direct line.

“I’m…I…Crisse, I’m still his emergency contact,” Jack says, halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Are you on your way?”

“I’m on my way.”

Bitty can hear the sounds of the freeway in the background. “Lardo’s going to be here as soon as she can. She and Shitty were out. She’s giving me her car. You don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart.”

Jack breathes heavily after a moment and then just says, “Thank you.”

“I love you,” Bitty stresses. “But I’m going to get off this phone because lord knows you need all the concentration you can muster. You tell that boy when you get there no more scaring us like this.”

Bitty’s friends with Kent on twitter. They’ve had a few DMs, a few playful chirps. It’s not a lot, but he likes to think they’re friendly. Last season when the Aces didn’t make it into the playoffs, Bitty sent him a bunch of maple cookies shaped like Hockey sticks and Kent tweeted several pictures with jokes about Bitty being corrupted by the Canadians.

Jack, who used twitter maybe twice a month, favourited them all.

Bitty put the phone down and when Whiskey started tugging at his sleeve, he put his hand up and shook his head. “Not now.”

The haus knew at that point to just let him be. So he went upstairs and packed a bag, and then waited on the steps for Lardo and Shitty to arrive. He got two hugs each, and Shitty whispering in his ear, “I don’t want to see that beautiful face of yours until you know it’s all okay.”

Bitty nods and takes the keys and then he’s on the road after a quick text to Jack.

He doesn’t get a reply. He doesn’t expect one.

The directions to the hospital are easy to find, and at first it’s hard to get into the room, but they make a call and he can hear Jack’s dulcet tones on the other end of the line giving permission. It’s the ICU so Bitty gets a little sticky badge and he gets buzzed in.

The place smells like anaesthetic and other things he doesn’t entirely want to think about. Kent’s room is private, far along the end of the hall, and the door’s cracked open. He steps in and Jack is half asleep with his forehead against the railing and his hand curled round Kent’s.

He doesn’t move away, but he lifts his head for a kiss and he doesn’t tense up when Bitty drapes his arms over Jack’s shoulders and kisses the back of his neck. Bitty listens quietly to the medical updates and breathes a sigh of relief when Jack says, “Far as we know, no head trauma. They can wake him up when he’s not in so much pain.”

It means Kent’s going to live. But his legs are shattered and one of his hips needed surgery and they’re not sure about his eventual range of motion. It probably means his career as a NHL player is officially down the toilet and Bitty suddenly wonders just how much living that’s going to be for Kent Parson who didn’t have much besides being the captain of his Hockey Team.

He clings to Jack harder and resolves not to leave until he knows Kent is safe.

He sees the heartbreak on Jack’s face when Jack thinks he’s not looking, and he knows then that whatever Jack had been hiding, he can’t hide it anymore.

He thinks it should probably bother him but in truth…it doesn’t.

*** 

Kent wakes up in bursts, and he doesn’t remember anything about the previous moments as he drifts in and out. It’s days before he’s coherent enough to realise he’s in hospital, and he becomes more and more aware each time about the fact that he can’t move.

He panics, the first time he’s able to retain memory for more than fifteen seconds. He thinks, “Fuck,” and wonders why he can’t wiggle his toes. Then he blinks and sees this contraption pinning him to the bed and the doctor’s there saying something about “traction” and “rehab” and he kind of gets it.

The drugs make him loopy—like Swoops’ jungle juice loopy and he thinks he laughs, and he wonders why he’s got the echo of some fucking Southern Georgia drawl in his head like a song he’d been listening to before he fell asleep.

By that afternoon he gets it. He doesn’t entirely remember the accident. Most of it is fog, like a really bad dream he had several days ago he can only remember in clips and phrases. He remembers laughing and deciding to have a go on the bike. He’s ridden one before—and yeah okay it’s been a long time but jesus Christ how hard can it be, right? He’ll take it slow.

He doesn’t anticipate the car barrelling at him at full speed.

He doesn’t remember the impact.

He does remember being pinned between…something and something. And his hand was burning but that goes numb really fast.

He remembers someone singing to him, and the smell of something like…cinnamon, but he thinks maybe that’s just the drugs.

He thinks that until the door to his room opens and a five foot six—and a half, thank you very much—blonde wearing a jumper about six sizes too big, and a pair of jeans that look fucking _painted_ on, waltzes in with one of those cloth grocery bags hiked up on his shoulder that looks like it’s bursting with shit.

Kent wishes he could sit up and at least run a hand through his hair which is greasy and clumped together from six days of not being anywhere near a tub or shower. He’s still drug-addled, but they gave him an epidural so he can’t feel shit from the waist down, and the morphine isn’t strong enough that he doesn’t recognise Jack’s not-so-secret boyfriend Eric Bittle.

Bittle gives him this lop-sided smile that looks like he’s actually pleased to see Kent—and Kent wonders if maybe it’s because he’s incapacitated and high as _fuck_ and probably couldn’t string two words together to chirp him even if he wanted to.

Then again he pretty much knows that’s not Bittle, and maybe he’s just a little bit bitter because even high he fucking misses Jack, and hates that this little asshole whose made of peach pie and sunshine gets to kiss him whenever the hell he wants.

And god damn has Kent tried to hate this kid but every time Bittle makes him laugh and every time Kent gets a little more fond.

And every time he understands more and more why Jack was willing to give up everything for him that he wasn’t willing to give up for Kent.

Fuck his life. 

No really. Fuck it to hell.

“…and you’re awake now which I’d better not be getting any lip from you about any of this.”

Kent’s mouth feels like he licked about a dozen toads—not that he’s ever done that, never ever ask Swoops—and he lifts his one good hand to his face to try and scrub some of the gross grime and sleep away. “Um. What?”

Bittle turns, one curled fist cocked up on his tiny-ass little waist, looking so adorable it should be illegal. “Were you not listening, mister?”

Kent bites his lip because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do and says, “What…are you doing here? And I need water.”

Bittle glances around the room, then finds this ugly little pink pitcher which looks like it might have been used once to collect urine samples in the 1980s, and he pours water into a styrofoam cup. There’s a bendy straw poking out of the side which Kent finds _hilarious_ though he can’t muster up more than a hoarse grunt.

“Why does it feel like I deep-throated a mace?” he manages.

Bittle approaches with the cup and doesn’t let him take it, which is humiliating in a way, but Kent is too thirsty to care. He tries to be greedy but Bittle only lets him get a few sips before it’s yanked away. “You’ll make yourself sick and those poor nurses ain’t bein’ paid enough to clean up after you like that.” It’s a chirp, his tone makes it obvious, and he sounds too fucking fond and Kent almost wants to cry. When he sets the cup down, he takes the chair which is really close to the bed, and leans on the arm of it, head cocked to the side. “You were intubated.”

Kent swallows again and wishes they’d just knock him out for a few more weeks. “Oh.”

“Surgery and you were…having trouble breathing for a little while.” Bittle actually sounds tense at that, and Kent’s eyes cut over to him and sees a little bit of wetness in the corners.

He wants to say something stupid and comforting but all he can manage is a hoarse groan because he kind of hurts and he doesn’t want to _do_ any of this.

Bittle doesn’t really react much other than to tug his chair closer and take Kent’s fingers in his. He thinks about pulling away but the comfort is nice and it’s all he can do not to tug Bittle into the bed with him because holy shit could he use a proper cuddle right now.

“Why are you here?” he finally manages.

“Jack has practise,” Bittle answers as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. “He’s a bit furious that your accident isn’t cause enough for them to let him off. Luckily it’s the off-season so he’s only got it twice this week.”

Kent blinks. “Jack was here?”

Bittle bites his lip, then squeezes his hand. “Of course.” Again, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which in a way might make sense. Not like Kent’s family would…but no he can’t really think about them right now, or how the Zimmermann’s had been a replacement for so long he forgot what he was losing when Jack left. But he knows he never changed his emergency contact, and he had kind of hoped that if something ever happened Jack wouldn’t show up.

At least then he’d know.

Only he did.

And so did this little southern peach still holding his hand. 

He starts to drift, and he feels Bittle shifting. The hand is gone and he wants to protest but the machine on his IV clicks and his next dose is flooding into his veins. He sighs, and then something really soft is tucked up against his arm. His fingers move to inspect it because his eyes are too heavy. It’s soft, though.

Sort of like—and he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining this—the lips pressing to his forehead, and the quiet whisper in his ear, “Get some rest, Kenny. We’re not going anywhere.”

*** 

It’s been a week now. Bitty’s in the hospital café waiting for Kenny to get out of surgery, and Jack’s walking through the door looking exhausted but better than he did two months prior when Kent suddenly stopped breathing and they had to intubate him. It was a reaction to the anaesthesia, they told him. It was common after an injury like this.

But he was awake now which meant Bitty and Jack were taking turns visiting with him, and spending nights at the hotel room, and Jack was driving back and forth to Providence when he was needed. Only the Aces’ coach had made a statement, saying he was recovering as best he could, and everyone wished him the best.

Swoops had been named captain in his absence.

No one had mentioned it to Kent, but Bitty was fairly sure he’d be happy about it.

“I brought you this,” Jack says, and pushes a starbucks pumpkin spice latte in front of Bitty. “It took some convincing.”

Bitty stares, then laughs because it’s not pumpkin spice season but knowing Jack, he knows his boyfriend drove round the city to find the one who kept a little in stock. He takes a sip and pretends it doesn’t taste a little stale.

“Shitty says he knows someone who can take Kenny’s case. If erm. You know, if he plans to…” Bitty trails off because he sees Jack’s face go hard. “Something we can talk about later.”

Jack gives a curt nod, but seems to realise what his face is doing, mirrored in Bitty’s large eyes, and he reaches across the table for his boyfriend’s hand. “We’ll take a nice holiday after this, eh? Somewhere…warm.”

Bitty laughs. “It’s not bad out right now, you know. Who knew Boston had such temperate springs.”

“Maybe the universe is being kind,” Jack says, and absently plays with Bitty’s fingertips next to his untouched coffee. “Maybe Kenny will come with us.”

Bitty hears a hesitation in Jack’s voice, like maybe Jack’s afraid Bitty will object. Maybe he should object, but he’s gotten fond of Kent and his particular brand of humour and stress release. He’d call it a crush if he let himself think about it too hard, but this isn’t exactly the time or place to be developing _feelings_ for someone. He doesn’t really want to think about the road ahead.

“He can’t go back to Vegas,” is what Bitty eventually says.

Jack blinks, then laughs. “I know.”

“I…his family…” Bitty hesitates there because for the time they’ve been at the hospital with Kent, no one’s come to see him and Jack has been making all the decisions a family member might. So Bitty guesses it’s not good.

“My parents are going to fly down when he’s released. The physical therapist said he’s going to be moved to the rehab floor, and he’ll have about a month there before they’ll release him.” His hand goes a little tighter. “We should…do you think euh…”

“I bet there are apartments near you,” Bitty cuts in. “Big enough you know. For all of us.”

Jack blinks at him and Bitty shrugs.

“You know I’m taking my finals soon. I just figured um. Well that we might…” He stops when he sees the glassy look in Jack’s eyes and right now things are so different and so new he realises he can’t read the expression on Jack’s face and he _hates_ it.

“I’ll look up some listings,” Jack finally says, his voice very quiet.

“I think most of my professors will let me switch to online,” Bitty says, and he sees the argument on Jack’s face go unsaid. Mostly, he thinks, because Jack would probably be offering the same thing.

“I have a press conference,” Jack says after a little while. “And Tater wants to come by.”

Bitty purses his lips and shakes his head. “They said…”

“I know. He wants to see you.” Jack offers a smile. “I think I…might be getting the C.”

Bitty lets everything go for a minute to be happy and fling himself at his boyfriend. They kiss, sweet and soft and Bitty carefully runs his fingers through Jack’s hair so nothing is mussed up. He’s profoundly aware now how little time they have to just be together without all of this hanging over their heads. He knows Jack feels guilty because Bitty didn’t ask for any of it, and Bitty knows that Jack couldn’t do anything _but_ be there for Kent so it is what it is.

But this is nice.

Jack holds him by the hips and smiles against his mouth and breaths him in. “You’ll stay here?”

Bitty laughs. “I made him some crepes with chocolate sauce and a peach compote.” He giggles at Jack’s face when he pronounces crepes like the true Georgia boy he is. Payback. For pecan. “With candied pecans,” he adds for the effect of startling a laugh out of Jack. He tugs on a stray lock of soft, black hair and kisses Jack on the nose. “Go get ‘em Captain.”

Jack smiles fondly and kisses Bitty another few moments before he has to go. Bitty misses him profoundly, but soon enough the clocks says that Kent had his full hour and a half of recovering and he should be back in his room.

He gathers his things, and his stale latte and makes his way to the lifts. It’s the home stretch, he tells himself. And he’s not going to let Kent fight them. They’ll take him home to a place he can get better, and be better, and know that some people do love him and have no intention of letting him go through this alone.

*** 

Kent lifts the lid on the tray sat by the bed and groans at yet another plate of something he really has to stretch to consider food. He hears a little snicker from the chair beside the bed and offers up the middle finger on the hand finally out of his cast.

“If you think you can do better…”

“Depending on your stomach,” Bitty says, a half-chirp because Bitty knows that Kent is lucky and doesn’t get nauseated after being put under, “I might have cooked you up something special.”

Kent can’t help a groan as Bitty somehow manages to squeeze his tiny body onto the bed. Now that Kent isn’t stuck in those machines, he can actually move over. Sort of. Because it still feels like he’s walking through quicksand when he tries to move his legs. There’s motion but…

Well he tries not to think too hard about it because if he does, suddenly it becomes hard to breathe and his machines start beeping and the nurses come in to interrupt their quiet moments. So he just shifts and Bitty manages to fit nicely—Kent tries not to think about _that_ too hard either—and he pulls up his little cloth shopping bag.

Inside are Tupperware containers full of something. They’re steamed up so clearly Bitty had been working on them not too long ago, and he shoved the tray of what’s probably soylent green aside and opens it up.

“Is that fucking crepes?” Kent asks, and Bitty laughs because Kent knows how to say it right. He only wishes Jack were here to smirk at them.

“With a chocolate ganache and peach compote,” Bitty says. He pulls out these tiny, bright blue plastic camping plates and he dresses one with the chocolate and peach shit and folds it into a triangle. “Eat over your plate, you heathen,” Bitty cries when Kent all-but stuffs it into his mouth and drips a glob of chocolate over the exposed V where the hospital gown doesn’t quite cover.

Bitty huffs and drags his fingers through it and Kent tries not to make a noise as Bitty sucks the chocolate off, then reaches for a tissue to do the rest. “Just because you can bathe now doesn’t mean you need to give those poor nurses a reason to have to put you in the bath every ten minutes.”

“Did I tell you the baths here have jacuzzi jets?” Kent says as a way of deflecting because Bitty has a little chocolate on his upper lip and for all that he’s still on fucking morphine, and has a tube shoved up his dick so he can piss, it still turns him on a little.

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Well don’t expect that sort of posh treatment when you get out of here. For all that Jack’s got y’alls absurd NHL contract money now, I don’t think he’s going to be buying you a hot-tub.”

Kent blinks. “Buying me a hot tub.”

Bitty huffs. “You didn’t think we were gonna let you fly back to Vegas on your own.”

“Um.”

Bitty just sighs again and leans back against the pillows with his cheek pressed against Kent’s shoulder. Kent tries to ignore it by making a mess of another crepe, though this time he manages to keep it all on the plate. He devours all but two of them before anyone speaks again.

“Should I save them for Jack?”

“He’s not going to eat them. Not a cheat day,” Bitty mumbles and he sounds sleepy. Kent pushes the little rolling bed tray to the side and shuffles down as best he can with legs that don’t want to fucking co-operate. He takes Bitty’s hand in his, and traces a finger down the lifeline there. “He’s getting the C.”

Kent feels a wash of pride because fuck yes, that’s his Jackie, but he also feels a sudden rush of anger because even if he ever does get back onto skates he doubts his body will allow him the flexibility and motion he needs to be that fucking good. He’s happy with what the team did but fuck if it doesn’t hurt.

Bitty seems to sense it, because he turns on his side. “Not squishin’ you, am I?”

Kent says nothing, but shakes his head no. There’s a silence, then Kent says, “Can I have Señor Bun?”

Bitty pulls a face because Kent’s been sleeping with the damn bunny since he woke up, and he knows Bitty misses him, but when he offered him back Bitty just said, “Bun knows he’s got a higher purpose in life than just sitting round my bedroom all day waiting for me to get into bed.”

Kent totally doesn’t tear up.

Bitty finds the bunny in the top drawer of the night stand right next to a bible they spent an hour last week picking passages and reading them aloud but changing words to Hockey terms to make it the Hockey Bible. Kent takes it and tucks Bun under his chin and closes his eyes.

He expects Bitty to get up now, but the small man just curls up against him and pushes his forehead against Kent’s shoulder and their hands meet again. “I know this is the worst thing. I can’t even imagine the things you’re dealin’ with, let alone the things you’re ignorin’. But you’ve got us. And me and Jack aren’t going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But Jack wants to find a place and it’ll be plenty big enough for the three of us and…”

“Has to be wheelchair accessible,” Kent says, and although they already told him he’d be using a chair for a while, if not forever—they’re not sure yet—and fuck if he doesn’t hate hearing that. But this is the first time he’s said it aloud and it doesn’t hurt _as_ much as he thought it would. Though he still flinches.

Bitty looks up at him and nods. “Wasn’t even a question.”

“You know I snore.”

“Slept here long enough to figure that one out, Mr Parson.”

He blushes. “I eat really bad food. I’m going to fuck Jack’s diet all to hell.”

“He’s a big boy,” Bitty says. He reaches up and brushes his knuckles along Kent’s jaw. “You know this isn’t…it’s not because of the accident.”

Kent snorts in disbelief. “Bits…”

“Jack had been sayin’ for some time he wanted to…” He stops. Then starts again, “He missed you. And I love him but I always knew there was a big ol’ piece of Jack Zimmermann’s heart that will always belong to you. And I thought I’d hate it, but I don’t. And I’ve known a long time that I’m happy with the piece I got. So you just hush your mouth and your protests and accept that we’re here because we care. We’d be here anyway. If you wanted us.”

Kent’s throat is too tight to say anything back to that so he leans back and flicks on the TV. It’s on the Food Network, something Bitty both loves and hates. Chopped is on which means he’s about to get all riled up and it’s at least going to make Kent laugh—watching this boy shout at the show the way his Uncle always used to shout at the “fuckin’ Cowboys with their heads all up their asses”.

“No…basil…oh I can’t even watch this,” Bitty gasps, pushing his face into Kent’s side.

Kent just laughs and slings an arm around him so he’s cuddling both this tiny slip of a man with a Scarlet O’Hara Drawl, and a fucking stuffed bunny, and knowing that while his life is fucked it feels probably the best it has in years.

It only gets better four hours later when Bitty’s asleep and Jack walks in and he’s not smiling until he sees them. Then he grins and it’s soft and fond and there’s a light in his eyes that’s been missing for what feels like most of Kent’s life. He drops down and kisses Kent in the middle of his forehead.

“Good to see you now that you’re not half-machine.”

“Still full of the shit,” Kent reminds him. “It’s going to be fucking amazing when I fly back to Vegas.” He says that like a test, to watch Jack’s face, and there’s a part of him who thrills when Jack looks hurt almost. He lets him stew in it for a little while before he says, “I’ll need to pack my shit at some point. You can come with. We’ll get wasted at the MGM then walk over and Egg Trump Tower.”

Jack actually laughs as he pulls up the more comfortable chair near the bed and stares at the almost empty container of crepes. Kent rolls his eyes and throws it at him, and Jack laughs before cracking the top and eating both without even breathing in between.

“Jesus, what am I getting myself into,” Kent mutters, and turns his face into Bitty’s hair. Bitty just mumbles a little and nuzzles closer and reaches for Señor Bun who Kent relinquishes with only a little bit of reluctance.

Jack smiles at him when Kent’s face suddenly lifts up and there’s a look of…something, on his face. Like he’s uncertain and maybe afraid of what he’d just said. This is Jack’s boyfriend he’s cuddling. But Jack is soft, and he reaches over as he settles into the chair with his legs up on the little nightstand. Kent’s hand is flat on the mattress and Jack tangles their fingers together like maybe, just maybe, he really does want to be here.

*** 

Bitty walks into the room as Jack’s getting ready to walk out. Jack’s cheeks are splotchy and red and his hands are shaking. Bitty’s seen this look before. He’s had this look before. Because Kent’s in physical therapy now. He’s in a wing of the hospital which is far off from the patient rooms. It’s the rehab facility and it’s a place where he’s trying to get better but fuck he’s angry all the time because he still can’t _walk_ and he doesn’t have all the feeling in his legs. He can support his weight—mostly—but it takes ten times the effort to take five steps and it’s just reminding him of what he might be losing.

And every time he asks if it’s going to get better he gets the same answer. “We can’t really know that.”

Eventually he’ll plateau and maybe it’ll be when he’s running marathons and maybe it’ll be when he can walk across his own living room unassisted. And there’s the big, glowing, ugly maybe that it’ll be when he grips onto crutches or a walker because that’s all he gets.

“Spine injuries are, unfortunately, unpredictable.”

Jack actually had to stop Kent from punching the doctor. Bitty brought muffins after that, and the DVD of Cupcake Wars, Professional Sports edition—that one actually has Snowy when he was first drafted to the Falconers, and he picks these cupcakes with a chili chocolate frosting.

It distracts Kent, and he has good and bad days, but some days are unbearable. It’s almost the end of summer now and he’s going to be released soon.

Jack’s found an apartment building with a lift and one of the apartments on the ground floor has lowered cabinets and a wheelchair accessible shower. So he gets it and he and Bitty set up their things, and start to try and make plans to get Kent’s stuff but he’s being oddly reluctant to talk about it, even if he hasn’t outright rejected their offer yet.

Right now Bitty pulls Jack into the corridor and cups his face. “Go home.”

Jack starts to shake his head. “It’s bad, Bits. He’s…”

“I have no doubt. The texts I got told me just how bad it is. But you get yourself on out of here. Your trainin’s about to start up and you need your head about you, Captain.”

Jack sighs, but he knows because Bitty neglected a lot and barely scraped by on his finals, though he insists he doesn’t regret it. He’s a senior now and he’s on a scholarship so he can’t quit the team, which means he might be driving down to Samwell every day, the hour-long commute would be murder but he’s not exactly sure what he’s going to do.

All the three of them really know is that unless Kent truly wants it, neither of them are leaving his side.

The worst is that Kent just…won’t say.

Bitty shoo’s Jack off eventually and moves into the room to find Kent sullen and scowling. He’s on the bed, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other tucked up near his chest and he’s got both arms wrapped round it. He doesn’t look over at Bitty, doesn’t acknowledge him at all, and Bitty only sighs and drops his things near the bed before sitting on the edge.

***

“You shouldn’t be mean to him.”

“Fuck off.”

Bitty laughs a little. “That all you got, darlin’?”

Kent’s eyes narrow and he looks truly mean. “You want to test me?”

Bitty stares, and Kent stares, and neither of them blink for a while. Then Bitty reaches out and brushes his finger along Kent’s left eyebrow before Kent jerks back and opens his mouth—probably to say something truly unforgivable, but these days he’s not sure what’ll come pouring out of his mouth.

“Ten steps until you fell,” Bitty says, and Kent’s jaw snaps shut. “That fucking sucks.”

Kent’s face does this funny, sort of aborted movement like if he were a video game it would have been a glitch. He doesn’t expect that from Bitty. “It did.”

Bitty looks over at the door leading to the bathroom which he knows that Kent gets this sort of rehab suite because he’s got the millions to pay for it. And on his face it’s obvious he tries not to think of what he’d be staying in if it had been him injured. Instead he hops off and holds his hands out to Kent who still doesn’t budge.

“Twenty steps to the bathroom. Then you’re going to sit on the toilet and we’re gonna use that weird little sex bomb thing that Lardo sent, and I’m going to pluck your eyebrows because sweetheart, let me tell you, you’re starting to look a little bit like a Neanderthal.”

That startles a full-on belly laugh from Kent who shakes his head. “Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m chirping?” Bitty demands. He holds his hands out and wiggles his fingers until Kent drops his arms and then uses his hands to ease his legs over the bed. He’s shaking. He’s overexerted from his therapy, but the rubber soles on his hospital socks keep him from sliding as he slips down.

They both know by now Bitty’s a fuck of a lot stronger than he looks, and he keeps Kent in a firm, but easy grip and doesn’t let him fall, even after step seven when Kent’s legs begin to shake and threaten to give out. So they take a breather and Bitty shoulders more weight until he’s ready to go, and thirteen steps after that he’s sat on the toilet and Bitty’s running hot water.

Kent’s fiddling with the bag of Lush crap that Lardo got him from the new shop that opened down the street from the campus, and he’s sniffing the little black and brown bags until he finds the brightest one.

“Is that the sex one?” Bitty asks when Kent hands it over.

Kent smiles, but shakes his head. “Disappointed?”

Bitty only grins back and drops it into the water and giggles when it begins to bubble and spread colour through the tub. “Reckon they’re going to bill you for staining their bathroom?”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Kent asks.

Bitty stares at him. “You do today, a little bit. Come on, strip.”

“Bossy,” Kent says, but he obeys. He has trouble with his joggers and his socks, but Bitty doesn’t help him because it’s not actually helpful if he does when Kent doesn’t ask for it, and honestly he can do it. Bitty knows this. So he struggles until his bare ass is on the cold toilet seat lid, and eventually his hands to out to grip the tub.

Bitty doesn’t help with this either, but he stays in close because there have been falls before and right now the last thing Kent needs is a concussion. Soon enough he sinks into the warm water and it feels kind of awkward because temperature actually _does_ affect the bits of metal stuck in his bones and he doesn’t quite know how to describe the sensation. Especially because he has so little of it in his legs that feeling something from the inside is almost too much.

But the water is soothing and the smells are nice, and he’s kind of angry now that he’s not angry anymore, which is evident on his face as Bitty starts giggling and reaching down to draw his hands through the faint shimmer of glitter.

“It looks like space.”

“This one’s called Galaxy,” Kent says and sounds sleepy.

Bitty smiles and leans in and presses a kiss to Kent’s forehead before he digs through one of the toiletries bags and pulls out tweezers. Apparently Bitty was not kidding about the eyebrows thing because he grabs Kent by the chin and plucks a few hairs.

“Fuck, ow! What the hell is this?”

“It’s the small price you pay for beauty. You’re gonna get photographed when you leave here. You really want to go with the caveman aesthetic.”

“The world can kiss my entire ass,” Kent mumbles, but he doesn’t do more than wince as Bitty grooms him. When it’s over, Bitty smooths some sort of minty-smelling cream and it tingles, then sooths, and Kent decides it’s not all that bad. Especially since Bitty’s still holding his cheek and rubbing across his cheekbone with his thumb. “You…” He stops because nothing he can say will be helpful right now.

“Want a wash? Will this stuff put blue in your hair?”

Kent snorts and shakes his head. “No, it won’t. But I’m fine.”

Bitty grabs a flannel anyway and does something that feels halfway between a scrub and a massage and Kent lets it carry on for a little while.

“I can wash myself.”

“No shit,” Bitty chirps and Kent laughs. “I like it. It’s me bein’ selfish.”

“I…” He wants to ask how the hell this is in any way selfish, but he thinks maybe it’s better he doesn’t hear it. Kent’s frustrated and angry and sometimes he fucking _hates_ both of them so much because sometimes the kindness is too much.

And sometimes he fucking loves them. And well he knows he loves Jack but these feelings for Bitty are new and he can’t tell if he feels them because he actually feels taken care of, or if it’s because Bitty’s a literal ray of sunshine and rainbows and other sappy shit. He knows it’s probably both. And he knows it’s wrong. And he goddamn knows Jack Laurent Zimmermann who is the guy who won’t share a slice of chocolate cake let alone a boyfriend.

And Kent is angry because it’s unfair that he should have to suffer this body along with this heart.

But Bitty looks at him like he actually likes him and that’s…a lot. And Kent really is a selfish mother fucker and he has no intention of letting it stop now. Even if it means moving in with the pair of them and slowly bleeding to death from the inside out from a broken heart.

The bath ends, and Kent’s too tired to actually make the walk back so he dries off on the side of the tub as Bitty gets his chair. He feels a little like a failure having to wheel twenty goddamn steps to the bed, but Bitty’s saying shit like, “I’m proud of you. I can’t believe how well you did today,” and it kind of rubs off on him a little and he _does_ kind of maybe—a little bit—feel like he’s made some progress.

They climb into the bed which is softer and bigger than the ones when he was in hospital, and Bitty flicks on Food Network—Chopped Juniors, which means he’s more uplifting and says a lot of shit like, “God look at this kid, he’s twelve and can cook circles around me—and they settle in.

Luckily the food here is better too, so Kent’s full from dinner, and feeling a little sorry now for the way he treated Jack, but he knows his apology should wait until morning.

“You heading home tonight?” Kent asks when he settles in to sleep. He’s got his nightly dose of painkillers, less strong because they’re trying to keep him from developing an addiction, and he’s starting to feel loopy.

Bitty turns. “You want me to?”

Kent’s inhibitions are lowered and Bitty knows it—and is pragmatic enough to never take advantage of it. But it means he can’t stop himself from tugging Bitty close and nuzzling into his neck. “Who will I cuddle with if you do?”

Bitty just laughs and pets his hair and pulls the blankets up around them. “Then I guess I have no choice, do I?”

“Always have a choice, Bits,” Kent murmurs, sleep tugging at him now.

Bitty is quiet, then he sighs. “I know. And I’ve made it, silly boy.”

Kent smiles as he falls asleep.

*** 

Bitty reaches over and grabs Jack’s hand as they approach Kent’s room. The SOS text was only half coherent so they’re not sure if something happened or if Kent is just having a bad day. But he’s twenty-four hours away from discharge and Jack was busy sorting plane tickets to Vegas. He and Bitty are going to pack up Kent’s things and pay the absurd fee for Kit to be shipped first class—because Kent will not have his sweet princess travelling cargo.

But now there’s this and Bitty’s a bit terrified there’s been a setback.

So they reach the door to the room and it’s mostly shut which Kent only does when things are bad. They don’t hear anything for a minute, then there’s a sound which Bitty doesn’t recognise but it makes Jack go pale. Like hands sort of…slapping together and someone stomping on the ground.

Bitty reacts without thinking, wondering if maybe someone is in there like…hurting Kent. Jack tries to stop him but Bitty pushes the door open all the way and freezes. Kent’s on the bed, almost kind of… cowering—in the way that Kent Parson would cower. His shoulders are hunched and his head kind of lowered.

And hovering over him is a woman, maybe in her fifties or sixties. She’s got dark hair pulled into a twist at the back of her neck and she’s dressed well and she’s scowling and her hands are just _flying_ through the air at Kent.

It takes Bitty a minute to put it together that she’s using sign language. Like she’s yelling at Kent in sign language. And she doesn’t notice Bitty until Kent does. When his eyes cut over, her head snaps over and she looks like she’s going to slit someone’s throat.

She turns back to Kent and gets right up in his face with short, sharp signs and he tries to respond but she shakes her head then turns her back. She brushes past Bitty, almost shoulder-checking him. Then she freezes when she sees Jack and sort of makes this saluting motion at the corner of her forehead.

Jack does it back to her, then signs something else and Bitty’s kind of having a moment here because when did Jack learn to sign? But right now what’s more important is that Kent looks like he’s about to cry and Bitty’s heart is aching.

So Jack handles her, whoever it was, and Bitty goes over to the bed and sits down and takes Kent’s hand between both of his own. His thumb brushes over Kent’s knuckles and he waits because Kent will talk when he’s ready. He and Jack both know this.

Except this time when Jack enters he speaks anyway. “How long was she here for?”

Kent swallows, then looks up at Jack with an expression that tells them both he needs something. To be pulled from whatever deep water he’s sunk into. “Couple hours. She didn’t really say anything much at first. Then she asked about my progress. She…the doctor came in and she didn’t have her terp so I had to. She asked all these questions and then she got angry.”

“Can I…” Bitty’s motioning to the empty space beside Kent and he nods, so he shoves himself between Kent and the railing and puts and arm round his waist. Jack takes up Bitty’s abandoned space and reaches for Kent’s hand. They look right together, like they fit. “Um. Who was that?” Bitty asks very quietly, his face half-pushed into Kent’s shoulder.

Kent looks back, a little startled, then says, “Uh. My mother.”

Bitty’s shocked into silence. Jack had avoided the topic of Kent’s family like the plague and Kent never seemed in a hurry to mention they even existed and Bitty kind of wondered if Kent even knew his family anymore. “Oh. I didn’t erm…know erm…” He doesn’t know how to bring up her being Deaf without sounding rude.

“Kent’s a CODA,” Jack says, and when Bitty frowns he says, “Child of Deaf adults. His whole family.”

“Whole family?” Bitty repeats, almost by accident, and Kent lets out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah. Only hearing kid I think except maybe one or two cousins I never really met. Erm. It’s…my dad was great, but he died and now I’m left with this bitch.” His voice goes tight and he stops and Jack squeezes his hand.

“Arrête,” he whispers.

Kent shakes his head and swallows thickly. “She doesn’t agree with my lifestyle choices. She…” Kent looks up at Jack with pleading eyes. “Did you even understand her?”

Jack shakes his head and looks sorry. “It’s…been a long time. She was going too fast for me to follow.”

Kent lets out a breath of frustration and kind of pushes back into Bitty. “She…”

“You don’t have to,” Jack says again.

Kent gives him a hard glare. “Will you let me speak?” When Jack looks apologetic, he nods. “She’s gotten worse, Zimms. She’s…fuck she’s in some new church and they told her to come pray after they saw the accident on the news. You had…you put her on the list of people who couldn’t come in when I was in ICU.”

Jack lets out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Kent shakes his head, but Bitty’s surprised to see a smile there. “She was pissed about it. She said she had rights as my mother, I told her I had rights as an adult who had years of therapy from her fucking abuse to keep her out. She doesn’t really know it was all you.”

Jack’s smile is softer this time.

“She told me that if I’d just followed the plan God set out for me and didn’t live as a deviant homosexual—and believe me the sign she used for that was not the polite version—the accident wouldn’t have happened. And I’d be able to wa—” he stops and chokes on the word and Bitty holds him tighter for a second. Kent clears his throat. “I’d be able to walk and I’d recover if I just…did what she wanted.”

“Fuck her,” Bitty says, his voice full of more venom than either of them had heard him ever use. “Fuck her. You’re…this isn’t your fault.”

“I know…” Kent begins.

“Fuck her for saying that. Fuck her for trying to make you think any of your choices or any of your life is responsible for…”

Bitty’s rant is cut off when Kent puts his fingertip over his lips. “I _know_ ,” he says, then smiles and Bitty’s heart skips a few beats. “Trust me, Jack got me over that shit years ago. I don’t…what she says I don’t take to heart. It’s just…hard to shoulder it sometimes. When she’s right in my fuckin’ face with it.”

Bitty squeezes harder. “Are you almost ready to come home?” he asks from behind a breath.

Kent smiles and looks back at Jack who’s just beaming and he’s still holding Kent’s hand. “Yeah,” he says, and lets himself settle back against the pillows. “I am.”

*** 

Settling in is harder than therapy and Kent’s pissed off all over again because he keeps trying to hurry his progress which is setting him back. He’s a stubborn bastard is really the problem, and after the fifth time of running over Kit’s tail and having a breakdown about it, he takes his doctor’s advice and sees a therapist.

It’s actually like grief counselling because in a way he’s grieving the loss of his previous life. Because even if he recovers fully it won’t ever be the same and this was trauma. It sucks at first and he’s angry a lot at Jack and Bitty, but they sleep with him in his room every night no matter how angry he is. And they leave when he tells them to fuck off, but they’re back without a moment of hesitation when he texts for them to come back—which he does, every time.

Bitty’s around more. Jack’s paying for his senior year because he can’t handle the stress of the commute and Bitty doesn’t love it—Kent can tell. But it means he can stay home with Kent more and that’s nice because Jack’s away a lot.

Jack’s actually in Vegas playing the Aces during the week of Hanukkah which Shitty and Lardo arrive to celebrate because apparently both Bitty and Kent had never had a Hanukkah celebration before. Shitty teaches Bitty his mom’s Hanukkah cookie recipe, and they even try sufganiyot which takes three batches before it’s edible, and Kent laughs as Bitty vows to have the recipe _perfect_ before next year.

They get a little drunk on wine that is totally not Kosher but Shitty says that’s fine because it doesn’t have to be, “Fuckin’ goyim always trying to corrupt me. Pass the bacon.” There’s not actually any bacon, so they just eat Bitty’s baked goods until they want to puke, and Shitty sings the song as he lights the Menorah, and then they Skype Jack after the game because he won and it’s the first time in years Kent’s had a holiday where he felt like he was around family.

He and Lardo stretch out on the couch and exchange surgery stories about catheters. “They didn’t tell me once I had my vagina I’d have to be cathed right after surgery,” she says and rolls her eyes. “I think Shitty was more fascinated by that than anything.”

Shitty fist-pumps, clearly not paying attention to the conversation because he’s too busy trying to destroy Bitty on Mario Kart. “GET REKT BITTLE!”

Kent laughs and then sighs when Lardo takes his foot into her lap. “Can you feel this?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Kent says, and he can, better than he could six months ago. “I think the most traumatising was when Jack walked in as they’re shoving the tube into the end of my dick. His eyes were wide and I thought he was going to vomit.”

“He had a teeny breakdown after that,” Bitty admits, not looking over.

Lardo snorts. “Poor precious Canadian baby. He was around for my augmentation.” She tugs at her tank top absently. “Real champ, that one. Fucking hurt, and Shitty was losing his mind over midterms. I guess it was my own fault choosing the middle of the year but you can’t be picky when you’re trans and you find a good doctor.”

Kent sighs and smiles at her because Jesus she’s so nice and she and Shitty just make him feel like family in spite of the crappy things he’s said to Jack in the past. He wonders how they managed to forgive him, and he kind of hopes it’s not the accident because that would suck.

“Love you, babe,” Shitty says after a minute, and he throws the controller down like he’s throwing a football after a touchdown and does this weird little hip-shake before bouncing off for more wine.

“He always like this?” Kent asks.

“Worse,” both Bitty and Lardo say and Kent laughs.

It would only be better if Jack were there. Next year, Kent thinks. Then wonders if by next year he’ll still be welcome.

*** 

It’s a year since the accident and things are…well the three of them don’t really have words for it, but they’ve settled into a routine of morning kisses and fooling around, and there’s no labels but Kent starts to feel like maybe he’s actually part of something.

But he wonders and one day he just asks. He’s leaning on his cane, heading into the kitchen for a glass of juice when he sees Bitty at the stove rocking his hips to Kesha and singing along under his breath. It’s just so fucking cute and he can’t help but wrap his arm round that tiny waist and kiss him.

Bitty doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t push him away. He just kind of leans into it and gives a happy hum. “Hey sweetheart.”

Kent swallows thickly then says, “What are we, Bits?”

Bitty turns, raising a brow, and he puts the spoon down covered in sauce and folds his arms. “Is that like an existential question because I think Lardo might have a better answer than I do.”

Kent reaches out and cups Bitty’s cheek and strokes the skin there until Bitty softens, then gives him _that_ smile which Kent loves so fucking much. He realises he’s not even angry all that much anymore, even when he’s frustrated by how different his life is now. And it’s not because Jack and Bitty make him better. It’s because Jack and Bitty give a shit whether he’s angry or happy or sad or any other stupid fucking emotion he’s got and they don’t stand in his way and he realises it’s kind of perfect.

“What are we?” he says again. “You. Me. Jack. I…”

“Oh darlin’.” Bitty goes onto the tips of his toes. He doesn’t have to stretch as much as he does when it’s Jack, but their lips brush together familiar and it’s familiar because they’ve been doing this for about a year now and Kent didn’t even really think about it outside of the moment. “I love you.”

Kent’s eyes go wide.

Bitty takes a step back. “Oh heavens, you…is that the first time I’ve said that to you?”

Kent’s throat, too thick to actually produce proper words, stutters with a sound. Then he just nods.

Bitty’s cheeks go red and he grabs Kent by the front of his shirt. “How could I have let you go a whole year without hearing it.” He kisses Kent again, then again. “Kenny…Kenny I love you. I love you so much. What are we? Darlin’ we are everything, aren’t we?”

Kent lets out a suspiciously wet laugh and he kind of just nods against Bitty’s mouth as he kisses him.

There’s a noise in the doorway to the kitchen, and Kent is unsurprised when Jack’s arm joins Bitty’s at Kent’s waist and there’s a soft kiss at the back of his neck.

“Not that I mind,” Jack mumbles against the warm skin, “but why are we fooling around in the place where we eat?”

Bitty rolls his eyes and grabs a kitchen towel to thwap Jack on the side with it. “We’ve been neglecting our boyfriend,” Bitty said, waggling his finger at Jack. “How often you tell this boy you love him, hmm?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t…say it a lot, do I?”

“Never,” Kent says. “I mean. Not since…I mean it’s been a while and I wasn’t sure…”

Jack takes over Bitty’s spot as Bitty goes back to the stove. Jack crowds him up against the counter and Kent lets his cane go now that he’s fully supported by a granite countertop and warm arms. He cups Kent’s face. “It’s been a shite road. But we’re here and I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

Kent shakes his head, but he takes it because it’s all he’s ever wanted and maybe it means that even though all this has been some of the most difficult things he’s ever had to face, it’s been worth it. And it might mean he’s forgiven for…everything. Before.

He surges up and grips Jack tight for balance and kisses him until he’s red in the face and neither of them can breathe. And it feels right.

It’s only better when Kit comes up to try and steal a piece of Bitty’s bacon and is chased off by a wooden spoon. Jack and Kent laugh against each other’s mouths and then Bitty’s drawn in between them. He fits perfectly and Kent wonders when it was exactly that he fell in love with Bitty.

He remembered at the hospital worrying what it all might mean, these feelings. But it’s been a year and he still has them and they’re both still so fucking precious to him. And yeah okay it might not have started out ideal, but now it feels absolutely fucking perfect.

“I love you too.” He realises he hasn’t said it aloud to them, either, as much as he’s laid there in bed between the two of them and thought it so loud it made his head thump.

Bitty stares at him, then at Jack, then rolls his eyes and flicks his snapback and says, “Go amuse yourselves. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

Kent lets Jack lead the way back to the couch and he’s smiling to himself the whole time because yeah. It _is_ absolutely fucking perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at my check, please tumblr if you like! [omgcaptiveprinceplease](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgcaptiveprinceplease)


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